


Breather

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Consensual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Musicalbabes, Sexual Content, beetlebabes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 10:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20599022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: Lydia's at a party she doesn't want to be at. What she needs to do is take a breath, or two, or three.





	Breather

**Author's Note:**

> So I got some prompt requests and decided to tackle them all at once. Hope you enjoy!

Lydia Deetz had a rather small list of things she hated. Her stupid classmate Claire Brewster was at the top of that list. Stupid stuck up bitch with her stupid blonde hair and her stupid blue eyes and stupid tanned face that in Lydia’s opinion made her look like a piece of leather. But parties and social interaction out of what was required of her was a pretty close second. And today, today was perhaps something going to top that list indefinitely. Because she was at a dinner party _ at _ the Brewster’s. Why? Because her father and Claire’s father were business partners. The ones whose goals were the gentrify the otherwise quaint and rural town of Winter River Connecticut. Not only did it suck because she was at a party at Claire Brewster’s house, but she didn’t have any of her normal support system. Dad was off talking business over booze with Mr. Brewster, and Delia was playing the doting, supportive business wife she’d become. Adam and Barbara were still confined to the house, and couldn’t leave without the risk of being eaten by a sandworm.

So here she was, all alone, at a party she didn’t want to be at, held in the house of the one person in the whole entire world she couldn’t stand. Everything about Claire screamed ‘rich bitch’ and in a way, Lydia supposed she couldn’t help it. Unlike her own house, which was simply an oversized Victorian with lots of space, the Brewsters lived in a fucking _ mansion_. A bigass, impractical mansion in the middle of nowhere, Connecticut. Everything about the dwelling, from the size to the decor which was even more garish and ostentatious than when Delia had redecorated the house after they’d first moved in, to the too rich refreshments being served in the stupid ballroom the function was being held in, spoke of people who didn’t know the meaning of the word subtle. Probably because their noses were stuck too high in the air.

But even if all of that wasn’t miserable enough in and of itself, Claire had gone out of her way to invite a ton of well off and conventionally attractive males and occupy their attention the entire night. And it wasn’t for a matter of simply being an attention whore, which she was, but it was also done to serve a point. Earlier in the week Lydia had honestly wondered what any guy of any substance would see in someone as plastic as Claire. And rather than resort to schoolyard bullying tactics -which she might have pulled just a year earlier- Claire had decided the best way to get back at Lydia was to prove how wrong she was. The only flaw in this plan was that Lydia had absolutely no interest in any of this. Not in the boys she wasn’t interacting with, not in the party which she wasn’t interacting with, not even in her stupid nemesis; who, you guessed it, she wasn’t interacting with. All she wanted to do was go home, and get out of this stuffy pastel color nightmare Delia had coerced her to wear by saying she’d keep the brighter colors out of her stepdaughter’s wardrobe and decor for the rest of the year at least. And after burning the expensive yet garish looking number, she wanted to relax. Maybe settle down for an old timey black and white film with Adam and Barbara. Maybe she’d convince them to watch an old Vincent Price flick this time.

Or maybe, Lydia thought to herself as she watched a man in a white tux and a woman in a black gown swirl across the dance floor so professionally and gracefully the only truly visible thing about them were their colors that coalesced into a familiar color pattern, she’d go home and pay a visit to the basement -where a certain demonic spouse of hers was. Lydia looked down at the ring that rested on her right hand and twisted about idly. It had been a habit she’d picked up in the two years since everything had gone down and he’d been immediately deposited right back where he’d left them. Normal had had to find a new definition after that, but they’d managed to work through it. It hadn’t been all too difficult when Lydia had demonstrated that Beetlejuice was indeed _ her _ monster. And he followed her every word like a dog obeyed its master. Beetlejuice had no respect for anyone, anyone except her, and because of that he was allowed to hang around, haunting the basement. Unfortunately for him, he was under the same type of restrictions as the Maitlands. Because the Deetz-Maitland household was technically his haunting grounds, all the breathing occupants could see him no matter what. But, he was stuck as nothing but an invisible specter to all those beyond the household, unless someone said his name. Something they’d found out when summer had ended and Lydia’d started school, and he was too clingy to let her leave without him.

Then again, maybe she wouldn’t. He was sulking in the basement for a reason right now. Beetlejuice had gotten under her skin in a big way earlier this week, and though it wasn’t technically his fault, his actions had been the straw that broke the camel’s back after almost a month’s worth of dreading this upcoming event and the regular inanities of day to day life in a haunted house. And Beetlejuice, being the demon he was, had taken her emotional outburst with all the grace and dignity of a petulant child. So, he’d left her alone. For four days now. Maybe it was the alcohol that was freely flowing despite the under twenty-one status of many of the party goers, or maybe it was because no matter how often they’d fought before they’d always been able to work it out in a single evening. But she missed him, she missed being able to throw herself into his arms and have him think up all sorts of wonderful ways to torture her enemies, even asking her for her own input to make her revenge her vision as well. She missed the musty smell of mold and death and magic she’d somehow gotten used to as she’d spent more time with him. Hell, she even missed his raspy voice, even as she admitted to herself that it was usually saying something stupid or perverted.

“Dammit!” Lydia softly swore to herself as she watched the people mix and mingle. She was irritated. Though, she wasn’t quite sure if she was irritated at Beetlejuice, or at herself for missing him. Hell, it was easier to blame him though.

And yet, as the dancers passed by her little spot against the wall she let out a morose little sigh, “Beetlejuice,” she murmured forlornly.

“You called?” his voice was suddenly in her ear and he was suddenly standing beside her. Looking out at the festivities he let out a low whistle, “Whoa, some shindig huh Lyds? So glad _ this _ is what I got banished to the basement for.”

Lydia snorted, “I didn’t _ banish _ you anywhere you over dramatic little candy cane. _ You’re _ the one who put yourself there after I got mad at you.”

“Well all _ I _ was trying to do was help cheer you up, like I always do!” Beetlejuice pointed out.

“Planning ways to ruin this party so I wouldn’t have to go was _ not _ being helpful BJ,” Lydia argued, mindful of keeping her voice only just raised enough to impart her anger to him but still keep it lost beneath the general din of the crowd.

“I don’t get how so,” Every now and then, Lydia had to remind herself that Beetlejuice wasn’t human. He was a demon who’d been human for less than five minutes. And when she failed to do so, he inevitably did something that reminded her anyways. Case in point, he understood the value of human life, even the overwhelming sense of feeling emotions had left him more than a little confused. But he often failed to see the bigger picture unless it interested him. And by interested, she meant that it would be something he’d want.

“You really don’t,” Lydia sighed, swearing that she was going to end up with wrinkles at least twenty years earlier than she’d anticipated, “Dad put the responsibility on _ me _ to keep you in check. Especially when it came to this stupid dinner thing. If anything went awry that fit in with your usual brand of shenaniganry he’d know you were behind it and that _ I’d _ let you out to do it. You do know the only reason he hasn’t brought in a priest to exorcise you is because I told him I had a handle on your actions, right?”

It took a moment to sink in, and when it did Beetlejuice true to form let out a swear, “Fuck,”

“You’ve known the feeling of dying once,” Lydia continued, “You wanna feel it again? With no chance of coming back? Do you?”

Beetlejuice folded his arms and looked mildly chargined, though that was quickly buried beneath his usual selfish and spoiled attitude, “I’m not saying sorry,”

“Too late, you just did,” Lydia retorted, glancing out at the crowd before subtly sticking her tongue out at him. If he wanted to be childish, she could be just as petulant as he could.

“Careful about sticking that tongue out,” he warned her, “you might catch a fly.”

“Great,” Lydia rolled her eyes, “One _ more _ incentive for you to stick your tongue down my throat.”

They had told absolutely no one, but almost a year ago Lydia had begun exploring her sexuality through Beetlejuice. He was the only one she trusted with that sort of thing, since she knew she was always in control when it came to him. He wouldn’t hurt her, even if he got overzealous and pushed more than he meant to. Naturally, Lydia knew that despite the ring on her finger, her father, Delia, and the Maitlands would have disapproved. Well, okay, maybe not Delia. Beej had said she had some stuff going on, and maybe she would have approved of Lydia taking charge of her sexuality like that. But most definitely the Maitlands and her father wouldn’t approve. And that had perhaps been a mistake in and of itself, because now almost any time he knew he was in the wrong he relied on his sexual prowess in order to take the edge off and act like he’d done nothing wrong in the first place.

Beetlejuice snorted, “Like I _ need _ a reason,”

“Well, how about apologizing for a kiss then?” Lydia fully turned to him even aware that any onlooker would just see her arguing with empty air.

“Absolutely not,” Beetlejuice shook his head, “I told you I’m not saying it.”

“Well then you can just leave, can’t you?” Lydia folded her arms and glared at him.

“I _ can’t_,” Beetlejuice said as though _ he _ were the adult talking to a child, “Because _ someone _ said my name and called me here.”

“Then fucking _ walk_,” Lydia hissed, “If you won’t apologize, then I don’t want to see you right now.”

“You’re just pissy because you don’t want to _ be _ here, right now,” Beetlejuice argued, “And if you’d just let me out, I could make it so you could come home.”

“Well I _ can’t _ do that, so I guess this isn’t going anywhere,” Lydia huffed, folding her arms and turning away from him. In doing so, she caught sight of Claire fucking Brewster flirting with at least five other boys. Lydia honestly didn’t care what Claire did in the least, but the sight only served to further annoy her. By this point both of their fathers should have known that neither young woman could stand the other. But here they were, forced to play nice and in reality be as passive aggressive and petty as they could get away with in public.

Beetlejuice followed Lydia’s line of sight. And suddenly everything clicked, “_ Oh_,” he said, voice soft with the realization, “I get it now,”

“You get _ what_?” Lydia raised a quizzical brow in his direction, arms folded across her chest and unintentionally lifting her decolletage up for better perusal on his part. Beetlejuice took a moment to leer, licking his lips as he did so, before shaking his head. But rather than answer her with words, he grabbed hold of her wrist and began dragging her off.

“Hey, hey!” Lydia tried to get his attention. He may not have been able to affect the living world for the most part but he could certainly affect her. And people were going to talk if they saw Lydia stumbling about with one arm extended as though she were being pulled by some unseen force. Which she was, but they didn’t know that, “Can you at least try and make this look a little more natural?”

“Dunno,” Beetlejuice countered, “You gonna cooperate? Because I certainly wouldn’t mind throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you off too.”

“You want your mom to come back?” Lydia retorted, “Because that’s what’s gonna happen if you give non-permitted breathers proof of existence beyond death.”

“Please,” Beetlejuice scoffed, “most of these idiots are so drunk they’ll think they imagined the whole thing.”

“Even so, would you please slow down?”

He stopped and tucked his arm firmly into Lydia’s, better able to guide her without being as conspicuous. They managed to duck out of the ballroom without being stopped but the relative safety of the hall wasn’t his destination. Nor were any of the numerous empty rooms that lined the hall. No, Beetlejuice had a specific destination in mind, but he was somewhat unfamiliar with the house so he had to try and rely on common sense. Something that was a bit difficult for him. Let’s think… snobby, pretentious, probably on the upper floors, maybe at the end… yeah. And then he remembered, expensive perfume. One of a kind scents that honestly made him wanna barf. But, he would follow it this time, and lo and behold after a bit of tracking there it was. On the upper floor, at the end of a hallway, with a big golden C emblazed across it. Perfect.

“Beetlejuice…” Lydia began, noticing the door they were headed straight for, “What are you doing?”

She had to have done it on purpose. Saying his name once while he was in a different location was enough to bring him there. But in order to let him out she had to say it three times without breaking it. The rule of three, you know he hated it. But hearing his name spill forth from her lips was such a tease. _ She _ was such a tease, and she knew it.

“We,” Beetlejuice said as he opened the door -figured, the little diva probably thought no one would go wandering- are gonna work off some of that anger you seem to be unnecessarily holding towards me.”

Jesus christ. As if the smell of the expensive one of a kind perfume Claire liked to douse herself in wasn’t bad enough, the whole room was bedecked in various shades of pink. Seriously, how old was this girl, five? Hell, at least the bed looked nice and big and comfy -even if it _ was _ pink.

“Seriously?” Lydia put her hands on her hips, standing by the door he’d closed behind them probably to attempt an easier escape, “You want to have sex _ here_? What if we get caught?”

It didn’t escape him that her concern was more with getting caught than by saying no. So she was tempted by the idea. Interesting, “Baby, they’re all flat out wasted or on their way to getting there. What makes you think anyone’s gonna come wandering this far outta the way?”

“What about Claire herself?” Lydia asked, “You honestly think she’s _ not _ gonna fuck one of the several boys she’s been throwing herself at all night?”

“I mean, I don’t think she’d take them back to her room,” Beetlejuice offered, “What if the maids need to wash the sheets? She’d get caught being less than daddy’s perfect little princess, and considering she’s at an all girls school, that’s probably the last thing she wants to do. You can do stupid human chores like that, Miss Bitchster on the other hand probably can’t.”

Lydia was silent. But Beetlejuice knew his bride, and it wasn’t because she was floored, it was because she was working things over in her head -trying to come up with a reasonable argument against him but hindered because of her own desire for both him and petty secret revenge against Claire. But Lydia, despite how much of a troublemaker she was, had a line.

“No,” she shook her head, “I promised my father no mischief. And besides that, this is _ wrong_.”

“When did you develop a bleeding heart for Claire Brewster of all people?”

“I didn’t,” Lydia argued, “But I have enough human decency to respect a person’s personal space, be that bodily or their little retreat from society. I wouldn’t be too happy if I found out someone had desecrated my sacred space like that.”

“Keyword being, “_if _ you found out”,” Beetlejuice argued, “Were you planning on telling her?” Lydia shook her head no, “Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s the principle of the thing!” Lydia argued.

“And what if I told you that Adam and Babs had had sex in pretty much every room of that house before you came along?” Beetlejuice asked her, putting his hands on his hips.

“I’d call you a damn liar,” Lydia folded her arms, giving him a tempting view of her luscious cleavage, “Adam and Barbara are _ way _ too vanilla for that.”

“Lyda,” Beetlejuice reminded her, “i was stuck in that house for a good long while with those two before they died. I saw _ everything_, Adam and Babs might have done anything more exciting than missionary, but they seemed to enjoy a change of scenery a lot. In the living room,”

“Ew,” Lydia wrinkled her nose.

“In the bathroom,”

“Gross,”

“In your bedroom _ and _ in the basement too,” Beetlejuice added, leery grin growing with every iota of disgust Lydia acquired at the thoughts he was putting in her head.

“Stop!” Lydia told him, raising her voice, “I don’t wanna think about it!”

“And yet,” Beetlejuice pointed out, “You were perfectly fine with those rooms before I told you, weren’t you?”

“I… well obviously,”

“So, if you don’t tell Claire what we did, she’ll never know, and you’ll be off scott free _ plus _ having all the full satisfaction of both a good tumble in the sheets and knowing you desecrated Claire’s room!”

“I… I…” and here it was becoming more obvious that she was having a hard time fighting his thought process off. Normally, he didn’t give two flying fucks about logic, since logic for the dead was overrated anyways. But Lydia was still beautifully, breathtakingly human, and she needed human logic in order to convince her. She was fighting a war with herself, did she want to be the more mature adult in the situation -the adult she _ knew _ her father expected her to be? Or did she succumb to temptation and go along with what _ she _ knew deep down she wanted to do?

“No!” Lydia shook her head violently and turned for the door. Beetlejuice immediately caged her in, pressing his weight against the door so that she couldn’t escape. But stopping her from leaving only unleashed the anger in her chest,

“You fucking bastard!” was slung at him. Not that the arrow stuck, because he knew she wasn’t truly mad at him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt as it pierced. What followed it was a litany of curses, growing in volume and intensity as they burst forth past her lips. And to be honest, it was hot. Beetlejuice was messed up in the head, and he found what most people to be classless or even hateful more erotic than anything. He’d been about ready to jump her after she’d pushed him off the roof the night they’d met, after already being put on edge by her little name tease trick. Even so, Lydia was perhaps getting a tad _ too _ loud, and not for the right reasons.

So he silenced her mouth with his own. Of all the parts of foreplay he’d introduced her to, kissing was perhaps Lydia’s favorite. She loved to kiss and nip and suck and leave marks even when he’d been sure he had blood for marks to be left. And as for him, he loved the way she attacked him, nails scraping through his scalp as her fingers knotted themselves in his hair. The way Lydia lost herself in kissing him. Of the way she caused him to lose _ himself_, sometimes only barely remembering that she was still alive and still needed to breathe. Case in point, they broke away only to find that somehow in the midst of their passion induced haze, Beetlejuice had lifted Lydia up and braced her against the door. Her legs were twined around his waist and there was a very insistent piece of him that was angry at being stopped.

“Dammit,” Lydia whispered brokenly, dropping her head against his shoulder and still clinging to him despite how mad she appeared to be, “I hate you,”

Beetlejuice could only barely restrain his chuckle, but he couldn’t keep the smug and possessive tone out of his voice, “Hate me all you want baby. You can’t deny how good the sex is,”

“Why do you always have to do this?” Lydia asked him, “I get mad at you and then instead of talking it out and apologizing, you put your tongue down my throat and fuck me until I forget why I’m mad at you. Why can’t you ever just admit you were wrong? Why can’t you ever just apologize?”

“Lydia,” she hadn’t been looking at him until he said her name in the way he did, “What the fuck do you think I’m doing right now?”

And then it hit her. All those times she’d been mad at him, even before they’d started the more physical aspect of their relationship, he’d never once said he was sorry. But he’d always made amends with his actions. She was reminded, he was a conman, he didn’t take words seriously because he’d used others and been used with words. Juno herself had given express demonstration as to why Beetlejuice didn’t put any stock in words. Words could be empty, meaningless, but actions could speak the truth where words could lie. Beetlejuice _ was _ apologizing to her, the only way he really knew how.

“_Oh_,” Lydia gasped, clutching her demon tighter to her. And now that it all made sense, she felt like she was the one in the wrong, “I’m sorry Beej,” she mouthed between open kisses, “I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you, I should have realized sooner-”

“Stop,” Beetlejuice hushed her with another harsh kiss, “We’re both to blame. I don’t like talking, because talking is how you fool people. You say sweet, pretty words, and then you discard them when you’re done. They don’t mean anything to me, but you-” he swallowed, “You humans are used to words. You need words to know what’s going on. If nothing else, I should have told you this a long time ago. Lydia I-” he still couldn’t bring himself to say it, so he just kissed her again. But Lydia heard the words loud and clear, _ “I’m sorry,” _

And then, he pulled back and started laughing. And though it was always good to hear his deep laugh rumble in his chest, to feel it reverberate through her own body when they were pressed so close together. Except, she didn’t exactly know _ why _ he was laughing.

“What the fuck are we doing?” he asked through his mirth, “Getting all sentimental at a time like this?”

And suddenly she saw the humor in the situation too. So Lydia began to laugh as well, “I don’t know,” she said in between giggles, “Was there something else we were supposed to be doing?”

“Getting -what do you call it?- ah yes, _ artistic revenge _ on Miss Claire Brewster. Say my name Lydia,”

“But-”

“You wanna make sure we don’t get caught, right?” he asked her, “Say my name,”

Lydia bit her lip, “Beetlejuice,” she began softly. He could feel the magic begin to bubble, along with sweet torturous anticipation.

“Yes,” he hissed.

“Beetlejuice,”

“Yess,” and he bit down to suckle at her neck.

“Beee…” she was a little breathless and incoherent from his ministrations, but so long as she finished his name there would be no problem.

“C’mon baby,” he growled, “This is gonna be so good. Gimme just _ one _ more.”

And then she finished it. One more B-word. And now he was loose. Thank Satan for the little witch in his arms. With barely a thought the lock to Claire’s door clicked into place. And it didn’t matter if someone had the key, _ no one _ was getting in here until he’d made Lydia scream. Normally, he would have poofed over to the bed, but Lydia had already expressed discomfort with being squeezed through reality to appear somewhere else, so he took the gentlemanly route and walked her over to the bed, tossing her onto it unceremoniously. His hand was already reaching for the knot of his tie when he finally seemed to realize what she was wearing.

“Purple pastel baby?” he questioned, paused mid-motion because he was so distracted by it. Yes, he’d seen her in it when he’d first appeared, and it wasn’t as though she’d spontaneously changed outfits in the interim, but he just couldn’t _ not _ say anything about it. It was just so, so _ not _ her.

“I know,” Lydia groaned, “Delia’s idea -”lavender is such a soothing and friendly color, Lydia. It’ll help you make friends, maybe even meet someone tonight”. Believe me, I would have picked something tasteful.”

“And tasty too, you little tease,” Beetlejuice loomed over her.

“Be grateful,” Lydia stopped him with a finger at the tip of his nose, “Delia _ wanted _ to get it in pink. If I’m thankful to Claire for one thing, it’s her love of pink. Because I _ knew _ she would wear a pink dress tonight, so Delia went with something a little less vomit-inducing instead.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong; you look great in it, you look great in everything,” Beetlejuice loomed over, raising one hand so she could see the position his fingers were in, “But that particular garment, would look better on the ground,” and with a snap of his fingers, so it was.

“Well, well, well,” Beetlejuice leered, “What do we have here babes?”

“My own little rebellion,” Lydia remarked. Her undergarments matched, and were black and white striped, “I was hoping the black would show through the gown so I wouldn’t have to wear it tonight. But, short of looking like I was in a wet t-shirt contest, it didn’t work.”

“You and I can have that contest later,” Beetlejuice promised, “But first, some revenge.”

“Good thing you’re dead,” Lydia joked, “They say revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“Well then,” Beetlejuice moved back, sitting on the edge of the mattress, “Care to have a taste?”

Lydia’s eyes glimmered, “Well,” she shrugged, sitting up on her knees, “I suppose we have to make sure Claire’s revenge isn’t too… _ hot_, don’t we?”

And she crawled up behind him. She knew his eyes were on her, watching her move in practically nothing. And he was champing at the bit with anticipation.

“What’s the matter BJ,” she enunciated his initials carefully, they both knew what else those letters could stand for, “Feeling a little _ anxious_?”

Anxious was the term he used for when he was feeling horny in polite company. But the phrase had also come to be something of an inside joke between them when she was deliberately teasing him.

“More than a bit,” he said, even though he sat perfectly still, “I got a taste, want some more, and you know I’ve never been good with impulse control.”

“Mm, I know,” Lydia’s voice was molten, “So let’s see how sweet revenge is, hm?”

She began to nibble on his earlobe, moving to place a kiss on his cheek, then turning his head to kiss and suck at his lips for a moment before moving down to his neck. Lydia was still positioned behind him at this point, so she ran her hands up over his shoulders and back down across his chest, lingering near the end of his stomach where his belt rested. Beetlejuice wasn’t that tall, at least not compared to Adam and her father, but he was still tall enough to pose a challenge to her shorter physique. Her hands slid along his arms, taking his jacket with them as she reached his waist and fiddled with the belt, laving at the tendons in his neck as she did so. Beetlejuice might not have understood human emotion as well as he could have, but he wasn’t much into faking reactions. He loved touching and being touched, and he’d taught Lydia exactly how he liked it. One of his hands -shaky with lust- reached up and tangled in her hair as she continued to work at the belt. At last with a satisfying clunk it came undone. Lydia slithered into his lap and gave him another kiss.

“C’mon baby,” Beetlejuice weakly protested even as he did nothing to stop her kisses, “you said you needed to taste.”

“I _ wanna _ taste,” Lydia corrected, slipping off and placing her hands at his knees.

He opened them enough to let her settle inside, jumping when she rubbed her face against the covered bulge like a cat seeking affection. She grabbed hold of his zipper with her teeth, pulling it down while keeping his legs apart with her hands. Once they began their sexual escapades, Beetlejuice no longer bothered with underwear. He said it was just another layer that got in the way and there were certain times he didn’t want to think about having to vanish it. Lydia couldn’t complain, Beetlejuice was a filthy rat of a man, bad enough his suits didn’t get washed. She really didn’t want to face that kind of filth. The only reason he even bathed somewhat regularly was because he knew she’d refuse to give him any when he got too rank.

But right now any thoughts of being anything _ but _ dirty were the furthest thing from his mind. How could they not be? When his gothic bride was peering up at him with sex kitten eyes and sporting his stripes? Furthering the feline comparison Lydia nuzzled his arousal before giving it a tentative flick with her tongue. He clutched at the expensive silk sheets, feeling demonic claws ready to burst from his fingertips and shred. Lydia was nothing if not a fast learner, something he’d discovered when they'd first met. Naturally it hadn't been difficult to pick up on what he liked most, and then using it to edge him until he was ready to beg for mercy. Something they had discovered about Lydia’s proclivities, she _ liked _ it when he begged. Beetlejuice didn't know if that was something that was specific to him, or something that might carry over to other people; his unspoken plan was to make certain they never found out. Either way, Lydia was giving one hell of a performance: hot kisses, nips, licking and sucking leaving him weeping in more ways than one. She was good, so good.

“Lyds, baby…” he managed to groan out through the waves she sent him on, “Sweet Satan below don't stop, don't stop. I'll beg, I'll beg all damn night. I'm fucking begging you please don't stop!”

Just to be a tease Lydia stopped sucking, releasing him with a wet sounding pop. Her lips were swollen from her efforts and her eyes were darker than normal, drunk with lust, power, or probably some combination of both. Beetlejuice couldn't help the whine that escaped him,

“C’mon baby,” he was close, _ so _ close, “I'd get down on my hands and knees if I didn't think that would make your job harder.”

“Hmm,” Lydia hummed, bracing her left arm on his thigh and resting her head against her hand there, “What would you do to entice me to keep going?”

“Really? We're choosing _ now _ to negotiate?” He couldn't believe it. Then again, leave it to Lydia to drive a hard bargain. Pun fully intended in this instance.

“Beetlejuice,” she warned, right hand lazily coming up and moving to further keep him on edge. Between the pressure of her hand and the soft scrape of metal from _ his _ ring on her finger as it moved against him he was finding it hard to think; ready to agree to just about anything to get her mouth back where it momentarily belonged.

“Christ, whaddya want from me?” He panted, “I’ll do anything ya ask baby, just please, please, _ please _ put your tongue back where it was!”

“I want you to talk to me,” Lydia replied, “And I want you to start _ listening _ when I talk to you. As it is you have a bad habit of hearing but not listening, and when you mess up you think sex will solve everything. Not next time, next time you're gonna need to own up when you mess up, and take your punishment like a man. Do you understand Beetlejuice?”

“Is it too late to amend my statement to ‘almost anything’?” Beetlejuice asked, flinching when he felt her grip tighten only to loosen. Like she was letting go.

“Beetlejuice…” she warned. That was two. Even if he stifled her mouth with kisses all she’d have to do is get free one moment and say his name one more time. He’d be invisible again. His powers restricted. And Lydia would pretend to ignore him for the next week or so. Crap.

“You drive a hard bargain Lydia,” he sighed, “Pun not intended. But alright, I can try to do that.”

“Good boy,” Lydia murmured, setting back to work. Leave it to the little shrew to con him right when he was most vulnerable. Damn tease. He’d taught her well. She was good. _ Too _ good. One might have thought that given how she’d stopped it might take him a bit to be pushed back over the edge. But Lydia knew him better than most, and knew how to exploit it. It wasn't long before the rush of sweet relief engulfed him with his fingers threaded tightly through her hair, messing up the curls that Delia had painstakingly (and somewhat forcefully) wrung out of her ebony locks. 

When he came back to reality he saw Lydia sucking off her fingers, undergarments discarded elsewhere. And just like that, he was ready to go again. But much as he might have wanted to -and he really, _ really _ wanted to- he also wanted to make sure that if this was the last time he was going to be able to use sex to calm Lydia down when she got mad, he would make it count. Besides, it wasn’t as if returning the favor was particularly bothersome for him. With a single snap their positions were reversed, and Beetlejuice immediately set to work working her over. He’d never considered himself much of a scholar, but Lydia was the exception to every rule. Learning what made her feel good wasn’t a bore, it was a selflessly selfish thing to do. Because making her good made _ him _ feel good. Kisses, licks, even a nibble here and there combined with a harsh rhythm of his fingers. Her hips began to move in tandem until he was the one licking his fingers while she drifted off. But he felt nimble fingers clutch at his tie -he’d forgotten he was still more or less dressed- and yanking him up to her lips. They kissed, deeply, and Beetlejuice was thankful for the fact that he didn’t need to breathe as Lydia continued to puncture their embrace so she could. Her fingers scrabbled against the material of his shirt for purchase, even as she clung to his tie with a death grip.

“Naked,” she panted, “Get naked, _ now_!”

“Whatever you want baby,” he agreed, more than eager to be rid of the rest of his clothes as well. With nothing more than a thought they were gone and he was settled nicely between her thighs. By now they were both covered in a layer of sweat and musky arousal, sure to permanently soak and stain Claire’s sheets. Man he couldn’t wait until someone found out about this. And he was more than certain the pretty little princess had already disappeared at least once during the party to pay up to those fuckwits she’d been flirting with all night. Well, wouldn’t daddy be so pleased to find the smell of sex in his daughter’s bedroom?

Speaking of, “Is my baby girl ready?” he asked her, positioning himself at her entrance.

Lydia’s response was both a roll of her eyes and a confident smirk, “Whenever you are, _ daddy_,” she purred in response. Something that she’d learned from the Maitlands and was a constant source of amusement for her was that Beetlejuice had a bit of a daddy kink. Maybe it had something to do with his own daddy issues, but the fact remained that calling him that was a surefire way to further inflame him.

Beetlejuice’s resulting growl was choked as he thrust into her and bit deeply into her neck all in one fell swoop. Lydia’s groan of halted satisfaction resounded deliciously in the overly spacious room though. It was almost as good as a scream, or maybe it was even better. Either way, Beetlejuice decided to make her make that sound; again, and again, and again. Lydia was a hellcat when they were like this: her nails raking at his back with delicious pain, scoring the flesh and had he been a living man it would have raised welts and blood. As it was though, all he felt was the clutch of her to him as he drove them closer and closer to unholy ecstasy; equally thrilling not simply by the boundaries that would have plagued them by human morality, but by the union of two opposite entities. Life and death, two bodies, one union. There was that story of life and death also being lovers, but ones who were never able to fully come together. There was a sense of sinister irony in how they flouted such convention, one that went right to his dead but functioning synapses. Only vaguely as they raced towards that cliff once more did he remember his need to silence her. Not that he didn’t love to hear her scream -he did, _ gods _ did he love to hear Lydia scream- but if she said his name one too many times he’d be gone before they could really get to the good stuff. Any further sounds she made were swallowed by him as they kissed. He felt it when she made it, the way her entire body stretched taut as a bowstring before snapping and shattering her conscious into a million pieces. Beetlejuice felt the waves of her own pleasure crest over him and he followed soon after.

“How long have we been gone?” Lydia’s voice broke through the foggy afterglow haze their efforts had resulted in.

Beetlejuice, still drowsy and content to slumber in a little further merely rumbled in reply, “Too long, prob’ly.”

Lydia let out a deep sigh, brushing against his skin as she stretched and sat up from the bed, “Come on,” she prodded him, “Before people start to wonder where I’ve gone.”

“Wasn’t that the point?” Beetlejuice asked, “Ain’t no one gonna be sober enough to really care if you’re gone. ‘Sides, we wouldda heard if they were lookin’ for ya,”

“I seriously doubt that,” Lyda hummed contentedly, “We _ were _ a little preoccupied after all.”

“More than a bit, wouldn’t mind doing it again,” Beetlejuice snickered, now fully awake and resting up on his elbows. Lydia slid from the silken sheets and reached for her clothes, and he watched. Watching Lydia put on clothes was almost as much fun as taking them off, offered him a tempting view either way.

“Hey Beej?” she began conversationally, “Mind doing me a little favor?”

With a snap she was fully dressed. Lydia was not one to be easily impressed, but he was so powerful when let loose it was hard not to marvel at just how little the laws of reality seemed to matter.

“Helpful, but not what I was going to ask,” Lydia folded her arms, purposefully arranging them so they lifted her chest even higher.

“Of course I’d already planned on putting spiders in her condom drawer Lyds,” Beetlejuice informed her as he stretched, popping a few dislocated joints back into place, “No need to ask for that.”

“That wasn’t it either,” Lydia shook her head, watching as with another snap he leapt from bed after bouncing his dirty boots on it a couple of times, “Y’see, Claire’s whole big scheme this evening was bringing around a bunch of numbnut rich boys -you know, the kind that on paper you’d wanna bring home to mom and dad- and shove the fact that they were all paying attention to her instead of me in my face. And while what we just did was wonderfully… _ artistic _ revenge, I’d still like to do something I can rub her rhinoplastied little nose in.”

His eyes came alight with mischief and the desire to raise hell, “Oh? Do tell?”

“Now, we can’t make her scream -though I’m sure we’re gonna hear it even at home later on. However,” and here she shot him a dirty little smirk, “We can make her _ writhe_.”

“Go on,” he was champing at the bit, practically salivating to hear more. Lydia was such a tease, and they loved it.

“Well, look at me,” she gestured to herself. Despite the magic that had dressed her, her clothing, hair and makeup was still thoroughly disheveled. Coupled with the nice little hickey on her shoulder and it was very clear to anyone with half a brain what she’d gotten up to, especially when they saw the noticeable glow lighting her features, “What do you see?”

“Someone who got a good nailing,” Beetlejuice offered, “So what? You wanna show that off to Claire Brewster? Seriously doubt she’s gonna be jealous of that,”

“Maybe not with you as,” she gestured to him, “_ You _ . Mind changing into something a little more… _apropos_, if you catch my drift?”

Beetlejuice raised a brow, and smirked, clearly intrigued, “You want a stepford husband to be babes?”

“The more egregiously rich and stuck up you can make yourself, the better,” Lydia smiled evilly.

“Hey,” he shrugged, “Whatever you want baby,” and in a flash of smoke he was someone else entirely. Putting on an exaggerated upper crust New England accent he bowed low and offered her his arm, “Shall we?”

“Indubitably,” Lydia said, linking her arm through his, uncaring of the mess they’d left behind.

Claire Brewster had always, always, always been the center of attention. At the very least, she was in her own mind. She didn’t seem to realize how fleeting her parents’ attention spans truly were, and that their lack of physical affection had been replaced with various goods luxury could buy. Nor did Claire seem to realize that her love for her parents had transformed from the love of family, but the conditional love based on what they could do for her. The idea that Claire Brewster would still love her family should they have lost all their money was a laughable one at best. But tonight was not about self-reflection and improvement, tonight was about Claire yet again doing everything in her power to get the attention she’d needed as a child from her parents from the people around her. The bonus was showing up that goth freak Lydia Deetz, who had only just so happened to have been born to a wealthy and normal business man. Claire secretly pitied Charles Deetz, and thought him far too kind a man. If she had been him, Lydia would already have been disowned, disinherited, and sent off to some third world country where people like her truly belonged.

Speaking of Lydia, Claire hadn’t seen her in a while. At the last glance between dances with Chad, Marcus, Liam, Riley, and the other horde of adoring males she’d invited for the express purpose of embarrassing Lydia, Claire seemed to have lost track of her victim. Well, to be fair, Lydia had probably run off crying when she saw the most popular girl in Winter River take two of the more handsome ones -Preston and Mackenzie- to one of the spacious broom closets. Men were so easy, and so willing to please. And Claire loved the power of popularity, and was willing to do anything to get it. So long as they hadn’t messed up her hair she could be bothered. Lipstick could be reapplied after all.

And now, here she was surrounded by sycophants who would do anything for her attention -and other skills- feeling totally bored. Where was the victory if there wasn’t a loser with a face to rub it in? But just as suddenly, she noticed it. The attention of the boys was now shifting. No longer was it on her, no, now it was on something near the entrance to the ballroom. Claire couldn’t believe her eyes. Lydia Deetz was walking in as casually as could be, even though her appearance was like… totally wrecked. Her dress was rumpled, she was sporting a dark mark on one of her shoulders, her hair and makeup were like a total mess. And worst of all, she looked like she’d gotten some. Gotten some way better than what Claire had been getting all night. Who the hell had she been screwing to look like _ that_?

Almost as soon as she thought it, Claire got her answer. A drop dead gorgeous man -yes a _ man _ \- straightening out the lapels of his suit. He looked like he was slightly older, maybe in his mid-twenties, wearing a pinstripe suit with a slicked back pompadour that would have looked like, totally ridiculous on anyone else. He wasn’t as lean or muscled as Claire normally preferred men, but he must have had _ something _ to make Lydia Deetz, certified prude and weirdo extraordinaire, look like _ that_. And clearly, if he had gone for Lydia Deetz, his standards weren’t that high, which meant he’d be an easier mark than any of these stupid little boys.

Irritating as it was though, Claire let her little groupies flock to Lydia, using them to separate her from the man she now had her sights set on. Claire sauntered up to him, swinging her hips, batting her eyes, smile wide and inviting and she even clasped her hands behind her back, arching her shoulders to push out her chest.

“Like, hello,” she purred, doing her best to appear sultry. It was an act that had those college boys had fallen for hook, line, and sinker. Come to think of it, so had some of daddy’s less repulsive looking business partners when Claire wanted something her daddy just couldn’t get for her.

The man looked at her and raised an inquisitive brow, “Evening,” he replied cordially, “And you are?”

That response threw her for a loop. Didn’t he know who she was? _ Everyone _ knew who she was. Claire Brewster wasn’t ignorable by any means. Not on Instagram, not on Twitter, and certainly not here in real life. But as annoyed and insulted as the statement made her, she persevered, laughing like it was some sort of joke,

“Oh my gosh, you like, total comedian,” she simpered, “I’m Claire Brewster, y’know; like, my daddy’s the one throwing this party after all.”

“Ah yes, James Brewster,” the man replied, “Rather ironic that a man with the word brew in his name would have such piss poor taste in spirits, but I digress. You’re his daughter?”

“Um… yeah?” Claire said as though this fact should be more than obvious, “I’m _ the _ Claire Brewster? Over ten thousand followers on each of my social media platforms? Model for Teen Cute?” there was no light of realization in his eyes for any of these things. And now that was really starting to get to her. But, she played it cool, seducing him away from Deetz was still going to be like, tres easy, “You know what, like, it’s fine if you haven’t heard of me. Because I haven’t heard of you. How do you know daddy?”

“I’m into a lot of things,” the man shrugged, “Made most of my fortune by going into the extermination business.”

Claire wrinkled her nose, “Ew, like, squishing bugs and stuff?”

“Precisely,” the man’s eyes were cold, and his grin was terrifying, and was she imagining it or did his teeth look more jagged and pointy? “Y’see, there’s a lot of nasty creatures people don’t want around them. You’d be amazed at how much they’re willing to pay to have someone else deal with them.”

“Oookay…” Claire drew out the reply, now no longer certain if her course of action was wise, “Still, like, that’s got to be a stressful job,”

“A man could work himself to death doing it,”

“So you must have something you do to like, y’know,” she glanced around and then sidled in a little closer, “_Unwind_,”

His eyes were dancing with amusement, “I can see what you’re offering little girl,” he growled into her ear, “But let me give you some advice, free of charge. You’re messing with the wrong type of man, and if you keep doing that, you’ll be the pest people want taken care of.” straightening up and straightening out his jacket, “Besides, I don’t go craddle robbing as a rule,”

“But, but-” Claire sputtered, unused to being denied and rejected so blatantly, “Lydia Deetz!”

“Is the exception to most rules,” the man replied, sliding an arm around the aforementioned young woman’s waist as she broke free of the horde and rejoined them. Just then, James Brewster and Charles Deetz made their way back to the social circles. And Lydia, noticing the disapproving stare beginning to form in her father’s eyes, reacted instantly.

“Oh,” she groaned softly, putting a free hand to her head as though it was throbbing. She weakened the strength in her knees, and relied on Beetlejuice’s iron grip to keep her from collapsing entirely.

Beetlejuice immediately looked at her in concern. Tightening his grip further he leaned in and whispered, “You okay baby? I wasn’t too rough was I?”

She shook her head slightly and whispered back, “Dad,”

Straightening up Beetlejuice understood immediately what she meant. And he made it a point to place both hands on her person as though he were helping her stay upright,

“I say Miss Deetz,” he put his false accent back on, “Are you certain you’re quite alright?”

“I… I don’t know,” Lydia admitted, knowing her father was in earshot, “I thought I was feeling better after some fresh air but now,” she purposefully stumbled as she attempted to take a step forward.

“Lydia?” her father and Delia were instantly at their child’s side, even though Beetlejuice himself refused to let go of her, “Are you alright?”

“I’m just feeling a little… dizzy,” Lydia replied, peering about as though she couldn’t see straight.

“And who might you be?” Charles asked, “I’ve certainly never seen you around before,”

“Ah, dad,” Lydia quickly cut in, “Of course you have, this is-”

“Beatley, Lawrence Beatley,” Beetlejuice quickly replied, taking a single hand off of feeling up Lydia to shake her father’s hand, “We’ve a mutual acquaintance in James it seems.”

“I’m sorry,” James Brewster cut in, “Do I know you?”

“You must remember you’ve used my… _ extermination _ services on more than one occasion,” Beetlejuice used a slight bit of hypnotic suggestion. Hell, wasn’t his fault if these breathers were dull and dumb as dirt.

“Oh yes,” Brewster replied, eyes faraway, “You know how some real estate deals can be. Even the filthy rich can be more of the former than the latter.”

“I see,” Charles said, still somewhat distracted with concern for his child, “Lydia what happened?”

“I think the champagne hit me all at once,” Lydia replied, “I began to feel dizzy so I went to go ask for some water. I must have stumbled because the next thing I remember is being slumped against the wall while Mr. Beatley woke me up. He took me outside for some fresh air. I thought I was feeling better, so we came back in here, but now,” she made another soft groan, “Daddy I don’t feel so good. I think I need to lie down,”

“Well,” Mrs. Brewster said, “We’ve plenty of rooms if you need to-”

“Oh no,” Lydia assured her, “I’m very picky about where I lie down, and I’m partial to my own bed, you know?”

“Well, alright then,” Charles said, sounding disappointed. Lydia wasn’t mad. Adam and Barbara were great but they weren’t really her father’s type of people. The Brewsters, scummy as they might have seemed to her, _ were _ however, “I suppose we’ll be heading out then-”

“Oh Charles you can’t!” Mr. Brewster exclaimed, “We just finished talking business, you haven’t even had a chance to _ enjoy _ the party yet!”

“But if Lydia isn’t feeling well-”

“You know,” Beetlejuice cut in, “I was just of the mind that I’d had enough merriment for one evening myself. With your permission of course I’d be happy to take her home,”

“Well… I don’t know about that,” Charles said, reservations obvious.

“Dad,” Lydia argued, “Mr. Beatley has treated me exceptionally well. All he wants to do is offer me a ride home. Besides, I’m not in any danger, I’ve got my cell phone, plus the _ home security system_, remember?” home security was code for the Maitlands, and to a lesser extent, Beetlejuice himself. But since he was playing a part, he had to pretend it just meant security cameras.

“Beatley is a good man,” Brewster also intervened, “Never seen him mistreat a lady in all the years I’ve known him. You’re daughter’s in good hands,”

“Ah yes, how could I have forgotten?” Charles asked, worn down between the spirits and rather logical sounding arguments, “Well Mr. Beatley, if you don’t mind taking Lydia home we’d love to take you up on your generous offer. If there’s anything we can do to repay you-”

“Think nothing of it,” Beetlejuice quickly replied, “Always my pleasure to play the white knight, that sort of thing. You live in the big house on the hill, correct? I think I passed it on my way into Winter River earlier this evening.”

“Yes,” Charles nodded, “Goodnight Lydia,” he bid his daughter, “We’ll be home sometime tomorrow morning. And don’t forget to take your purse,” inside her clutch was a miniature taser her father had gotten her a license to use. The indication was that she should use it if he turned out for the worst. God three glasses of wine turned her father into an overprotective grade a sap, didn’t they?

“Yes dad,” Lydia nodded, “Mr. Beatley? Lead the way,”

Hand tucked firmly in his arm, Beetlejuice led Lydia out to the front of the house. He juiced the engine of a car to make it sound like they were pulling away before promptly vanishing them back to the house. The Maitlands had already turned in for the night it seemed. Not that Lydia blamed them, it was after midnight after all. She turned to find Beetlejuice already back to abnormal, and with a snap she was in her comfiest nightgown.

“So,” she began, “What now?”

“Depends,” he began with a leer, “How sore are ya?”

The ache in her hips wasn’t _ too _ bad all things considered. It definitely could have been worse. They’d been rough with each other before. But if he was asking, it wasn’t out of concern for her alone. She saw the look in his eyes. And to be truthful, she was feeling kind of anxious herself after watching Claire throw herself at Beetlejuice only to get soundly and summarily rejected. Lydia returned his heated stare with one of her own,

“Not bad. Though I was thinking of heading to bed. Why? What did you have in mind?”

“Baby,” he scooped her up into his arms, “Bed was my destination too. For the next two days I’m thinking.”

“Two days? That’s a long time, don’t you think?”

“Time passes differently for me,” he reminded her as they clambered up the stairs, “But you’re gonna want it.”

“Oh am I? And how do you plan on convincing me of that?” Lydia asked him as they reached her room and landed on the bed in question.

“Well darling,” he purred as he reached for his tie, “Let me _ show _ you why we should stay in bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and I'll see you all next time


End file.
